


the impossible duet

by shairiru



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shairiru/pseuds/shairiru
Summary: Madara has been used to being alone, playing his violin in the solitude of his brother's grave.Then, a cellist named Hashirama comes along.





	the impossible duet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystletainn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystletainn/gifts).



 

Pulling the violin out of its case gives Madara a feeling of familiarity, a sense of coming home. Music has always been his sanctuary since he learned playing, it had embedded deep within his soul. Izuna had told him he makes the most wonderful music he has ever heard. What his younger brother never realized was that he only played like that for him and no one else. He loved his brother so much that only he was able to pull out the sweetest melodies residing deep within his heart. 

 

Now that Izuna has passed away, only he and his lingering memories are able to pull out the saddest songs from Madara. He has sworn long ago that he would only play for his brother alone, that only his ears will be graced by his music. 

 

Now that he is gone, there is only his gravestone to listen.

 

-

 

"Hey."

 

A soft wind blows and the scent of summer is all around the air. Madara turns around to look at the stranger who dared listen to him play. He sees another man with an easy smile and bright eyes.

 

"Who are you?"

 

"Just a regular. I usually visit around here and many times I've seen and heard you play. You're great, by the way. Your music is always so heartfelt and moving."

 

"I don't need your opinion." He starts packing up, slightly infuriated by the sudden intrusion. How come he never noticed him before? If he had, he wouldn't have played with him around. Izuna is the only audience he needs and wants.

 

"Wait." The stranger calls after him. He stops in his tracks, already regretting giving this person another chance to talk. "I'm sorry if I offended you or anything. I just wanted to talk to you after all this time. Your music always speaks to me. I feel like you will understand."

 

"Understand what?"

 

"My loss." Madara turns around then. The stranger smiles again. "My youngest brother died over two years ago. We saw it coming, but I guess I never was prepared for the actual losing part. His death left me an empty feeling in my chest I so try to fill these past years. I never did, that is, until I hear you playing one rainy afternoon."

 

Madara remembers that afternoon well. He woke up screaming his brother's name, clutching at his sheets, his back damp with cold sweat. The walls of his room seemed to close on him, looming over him like predating shadows. He left before he lost his mind and ran to the cemetery with his violin in hand. The rain had been pouring steadily and he brought no umbrella with him. He was drenched by the time he arrived in front of Izuna's grave. The sight of the gravestone calmed him, and after a moment, he had pulled his violin outside its case and played despite the weather. He never thought someone must have seen him.

 

"I am sorry for your loss, but if you're looking for someone to wallow with, you're talking to the wrong person."

 

A soft laugh escapes the man’s lips. "It's not like that. I just thought we could be friends."

 

"Friends?" Madara had none of them before. He never needed them.

 

"It might not look like it, but I play an instrument, too. My favorite is Vivaldi. I usually play in the restaurant downtown as a part time job. They pay quite well. The people there are nice but I'm the only musician, so I don't have anyone to talk to about this."

 

Madara stares at him for a moment. He seems rather a spirited man and he now realizes trying to push him away when the person is obviously so bent into talking with him will be for naught. 

 

"I'm not really fond with those dead white men who composed during their times. I play what I feel like playing."

 

The stranger's eyes brighten at his reply. He extends a hand forward. "Oh damn, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Hashirama."

 

He shakes it after a moment of hesitation. "Madara."

 

"It's nice meeting you, Madara."

 

-

 

“Is that-” Madara narrows his eyes as Hashirama approaches him with a goofy smile on his face and big cello case in tow. They have been meeting a lot frequently in the graveyard though not for long, and Hashirama has been really talkative. By now, Hashirama has even shared to him his dreams of performing in a concerto someday.

 

“Madara, meet Kawa, my most beloved cello.”

 

“Why did you bring it here?”

 

“I thought we could play a duet together. I even brought a music sheet.”

 

“I’m not playing with anyone or for anyone, didn’t I tell you that before?”

 

“But I’m not just anyone, am I? I’m your friend!”

 

“I already said no.”

 

Hashirama pouts and leans against his cello dejectedly. “Don’t tell me I brought this here for nothing?”

 

“Sadly.”

 

“This cello is really heavy, you know.”

 

“I don’t care.” He pulls out his own violin from its case, feeling the familiar silk strings beneath his calloused fingers. It looks he has to replace them soon. Ignoring Hashirama’s depressed figure on the ground, he rests his chin on the plastic and positions the bow over the neck. He sees Hashirama shift in the corner of his eyes. The moment he saws through the strings, he feels him being captivated.

 

He easily loses himself in the music. This certain piece doesn’t have a confining structure and changes fluidly, jumping from style to style just how he likes it. Music is supposed to be the expression of one’s soul, and he believes it must be free from the bindings of form and progression. It is a bird soaring high, feathers ruffled by the strong wind, eyes directed to a land faraway. A creature that is free but with a clear goal in mind.

 

He ends the music with a flourish. Hashirama brings his hands together for a round of applause. Despite his reservations about playing in front of Izuna alone, Madara feels accomplished somehow.

 

“That was Vivaldi, wasn’t it?” Of course Hashirama would identify him anywhere. “I almost didn’t recognize it, I heard more of you still.”

 

“La Folia. I looked up Vivaldi. He’s inventive with his music. I like it.”

 

“Do you now?” Hashirama smiles, seemingly recovered from his bout of depression from not being able to play a duet with Madara. “I like him exactly for the same reason.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, I’m still not playing with you.”

 

“Another time, for sure. I’m just glad you let me listen to you.” He slings the cello case on his back and cocks his head to the side. “Come with me. I have a duty today. You might want to see me play.”

 

“In the restaurant you talked about?”

 

“Yeah. You will get free food, too. Sounds good?”

 

He isn’t really interested with the food, but Madara’s curiosity about Hashirama’s music makes him go. They walk together while Hashirama leads the way, talking about how he first learned playing when he was just about ten. His brother that immediately followed him - Tobirama - was the original student, but he didn’t grew affectionate with the instrument and discarded the cello in a corner of their house. Hashirama decided to play around with it once, having a prior knowledge with strings, and the cello spoke to him like no other instrument ever had.

 

“How about you?” Hashirama turns to him. “When did you start playing the violin?”

 

The question brings back a sudden flood of images in Madara’s mind. He stops and closes his eyes to block them out. When he opens them again, he sees Hashirama a few steps ahead of him, looking back worriedly.

 

“Hey, it’s alright if you don’t want to answer it.” He smiles in a comforting way. “I suppose it concerns your late brother.”

 

“Izuna loved classical music.” Madara answers anyway. There is now way he could move on over his death if he will not allow himself to talk about his life. He continues walking, passing Hashirama. “We found this stack of old recordings in our house back then. They were all classical. He listened to it all the time, and once he declared he wanted to play like them. 

 

“For his eighth birthday, our parents bought him a violin. We normally can’t afford a luxury like that, so I knew they saved up for it for quite some time. A music teacher is out of the question, we have no money for that, either. I tried learning by myself so that I can teach him. We practically learned the violin together.”

 

“He sounds like a really adorable younger brother.”

 

“He was.”

 

“And you’re a good older brother to him, being that dedicated and caring.”

 

“It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t even protect him.”

 

Hashirama doesn’t push for more details, that Madara appreciates. He only rests his hand on Madara’s shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. Surprisingly, it is a gesture he welcomes.

 

-

 

“Here we are.”

 

Madara stares at the retro sign hanging above the entrance: The Bistro. Antique looking posters adorn the window glasses, ornamental figures and books line the walls, and a simple but classy chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It is a decent-looking place, a unique one at that.

 

“Come on.” Hashirama holds the door open and motions him in. It’s already after lunch, yet the small restaurant is still considerably filled with people. A white-haired young man with an obviously forced smile is behind the counter. Upon seeing the two of them enter, the man’s expression changes to that of relief.

 

“Brother! You’re here.”

 

Hashirama turns and waves excitedly. “Tobirama! I’m not late, am I?”

 

“Barely.” The man - Tobirama - looks at Madara then, his eyes narrowing a bit. “Who’s that?”

 

“Ah, he’s the one I talked to you about: Madara. He’s the violin player in the cemetery. I brought him here to listen to me play. Take care of him for a while, will you? I promised him free food.”

 

Hashirama leaves, running to a room on the far corner of the restaurant. Madara stands unmoving in front of the counter as Tobirama eyes him from the feet up. He feels a bit of hostility coming from Hashirama’s younger brother, and it surprises Madara how these two people can be so different from each other.

 

“Well, what food would you like?”

 

“It’s fine. I didn’t come with him for the food.”

 

“I suggest you get even a little something. He’d either insist to give you food later anyway, or he’d blame me that I’m not treating his friends well. He’s that kind of guy.”

 

In the end, Madara asks for a cup of coffee and waits on a small table. Hashirama appears not long after in a much finer set of clothes. He seems to be quite popular within the audience because people cheered as he sits on the chair meant for him in front. Hashirama smiles at everyone and the crowd quiets down. He looks at Madara last as if beckoning him to listen well.

 

When he starts playing, Madara listens. And more than that, he actually hears.

 

Hashirama plays the cello as if he’s strumming and sawing on the very strands of his soul. Madara is pretty sure he’s playing some dead white man’s composition, but with the way the music comes out of his instrument, it’s as if the music is his own. Every note and every chord is very him, and despite the short time they have come to know each other, Madara feels like Hashirama is baring his soul for the whole world to hear. His fingers itch for his violin. 

 

Hashirama plays five songs, and all the time Madara’s full attention is on him. His cup of coffee has gone cold by the time Hashirama stands from his place and bows. Everyone brings their hands together for an applause. If his fingers aren’t just trembling, Madara would have done the same. 

 

The usual noise of chatter returns as soon as Hashirama leaves his stage. Madara drinks his beverage as he waits for the other man to return. When he does, he’s wearing a satisfied smile on his face.

 

“You play well,” Madara finds himself commenting.

 

“I know.” Hashirama laughs as he takes the seat in front of Madara. “I wouldn’t be this good if I didn’t have an ounce of confidence. Think I’m better than you?”

 

He scoffs, surprised at the sudden air of challenge. “Not in a hundred years.”

 

-

 

Madara becomes a regular in The Bistro, much to Tobirama’s surprise. He doesn’t look like the type to hang out in restaurants at all. Besides, he can’t actually fathom how his older brother enjoys that man’s company. He always looks brooding, depressed with the world. His brother, in contrast, is a walking ball of sunshine (but with occasional bouts of cloudy days). 

 

His brother has once told him that music binds people’s souls. Tobirama never really quite understood that, especially not now when it is music that bonds these two together.  

He himself is not quite fond of music. They tried to make him play the cello before, but he never liked it. Hashirama loved it, though, and together with Itama who played the violin, their house was always a small concert house. That was until Itama died. From then on, it had mostly been quiet.

 

But recently, he’d find his brother playing his cello in the house again. It’s almost as if he has returned to his  own self before Itama’s death. Almost. 

 

“Here’s your order.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Tobirama watches as Madara takes a sip from his drink, not moving from where he is. He can’t quite figure out what this man really is.

 

“Do you have anything else to say?” Madara looks at Tobirama then, an eyebrow raised in question.

 

“I’m still wary about you.”

 

“I’m aware of that,” he throws him a lopsided smile. “I can feel your coldness all the way from the counter. It’s a wonder why.”

 

“My brother has been acting weird ever since you two knew each other. It has naturally raised my concerns.”

 

“Acting weird? How so? Isn’t he always like that?”

 

“You don’t have to know. But, I want to be sure, why are you hanging out with him?”

 

“That question would be best asked to your brother. I still wonder to myself why he hangs out with me.”

 

The slight smile that lines Madara’s lips stirs uneasiness in Tobirama’s mind. It feels like he’s looking at something that is developing, but he can’t identify  exactly what it is. He leaves as soon as his brother arrived, taking the chair next to Madara. 

 

Madara’s smile turns into a full one.

 

-

 

Madara finds himself pulling out his violin that night at the stillness of his apartment. He never played unless in front of Izuna’s grave, not even when he is alone. He does it now, however, thinking it strange to hear his own music echoing back at him in the small room.

 

There is a certain peace and quiet with the way every chord flows through the silk strings and bounces off the walls back to his ears. It is less mournful compared to the music he makes in the wide, open cemetery. He imagines the progressions of the first piece Hashirama played the first time he listened to him in The Bistro. That piece could have a violin duet; he imagines he’s playing alongside him.

 

For a long time since, melodies are now pouring out of his consciousness.

 

His fingers are trembling again, and he’s afraid of what it means.

 

-

 

The Bistro feels quite incomplete that day. Madara never passed by, and he wasn’t in the cemetery either. (Hashirama checked, just to be sure.) A part of his mind has not been quite with him. It is fortunate that his other muscles already know his music, and he didn’t have to think much to play his repertoire for that afternoon.

 

“Waiting for someone?” Tobirama asks him then while counting that day’s tips. 

 

Hashirama is bent over the counter, his chin on the cold granite. He’s been looking at the minerals that glistened on them.

 

“He always tells me beforehand if he wouldn’t be coming.”

 

“You’re not his keeper. He’s not in any obligation to tell you all his whereabouts,” Tobirama closes his eyes in irritation. “And you shouldn’t be worrying about him. He’s not a kid.”

 

“Still.” Hashirama presses his cheek harder on the countertop. “That guy lives alone, I can’t help it.”

 

“Have you contacted him by phone?”

 

“He doesn’t have one.”

 

“Seriously. How does that person live?”

 

“On another matter though,” Hashirama pushes himself up and leans his elbow on the counter, letting his chin rest on his interlocked fingers, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You still don’t trust Madara.”

 

“You are the one befriending him, not me. I don’t necessarily need to feel the same as you do.”

 

“I think you’ll get along quite well if you try.”

 

“No, thanks.”

 

“You don’t have friends, Tobirama.”

 

“I don’t need one.”

 

“You’re going to die alone.”

 

“Fascinating.”

 

“Hey,” Hashirama seems to have given up at that point, “Okay, I won’t force you to befriend Madara, as well. But you can be nicer, yeah?”

 

“Anyway,” Tobirama keeps the money he earned that day in his pockets, purposely not answering his brother’s question. “Let’s go home.”

 

“Fine.”

 

They bid their farewells to the manager and the remaining staff. Hashirama carries his cello behind his back, its familiar weight lifting his spirits a little bit. He starts humming Moonlight Sonata, a piece Tobirama knows all too well.

 

“Aside from the music,” Tobirama asks after a few minutes of hearing the tune, “Why do you hang out with Madara?”

 

He has asked the same question to Madara some other day before, and he wanted to know what his brother himself thinks of it.

 

“Should there be a reason why you hang out with people?”

 

“Well if it’s a person like Madara, there should probably be a very sound reason why you do it.”

 

“You make it sound like he’s a fugitive or something.”

 

“He came out of nowhere!”

 

“There’s no reasoning with you at all,” Hashirama rubs a hand over his forehead. His brother is among the most stubborn people he knows of.

 

“I’m just warning you, brother,” Tobirama’s tone seems to have softened somehow, “You easily trust people and get attached. You seem to forget how easily they can come and go through your life.”

 

“Knowing that, then is it wrong to enjoy every moment you have with that person?”

 

Tobirama wonders how his older brother can be so naive.

 

-

 

It is as if a storm just left Hashirama’s spirit the moment he sees Madara entering through the doors of The Bistro. It has been four days since he last heard from him, and to be honest, he had thought he would never hear from him again. The restaurant has a handful of customers, Madara goes straight towards the counter where Hashirama is sitting.

 

“Hey,” he greets tentatively, seemingly calculating the atmosphere around him.

 

Hashirama’s arm is around Madara’s shoulder at once, clapping him at the back simultaneously so. “Madara! Where have you run to? I thought you’d be gone forever.”

 

“As if I could get you off my back for that long?” A small smile forms on Madara’s lips.

 

“Indeed. If you haven’t dropped by today, I would have already had your face posted all over the city by tomorrow. Where have you been?” It’s only then that Hashirama notices the case that is slung behind Madara. “Is that…your violin?”

 

“I’ve been practicing.” Madara looks almost embarrassed to be saying those three words. Nevertheless, it solicits a smile on Hashirama’s face.

 

“Which piece?”

 

“The first piece you played the first time I was here. I practiced the violin part.”

 

“Oh?” He scratched his chin in a feigned contemplation, “I don’t seem to remember which was that. Can you remind me?”

 

Madara seems to have bitten the bait at first, but Hashirama’s slight chuckle gave it away. “You idiot. Are you trying to make me play right now?”

 

“Am I?” Hashirama laughs. “Why did you even practice it?”

 

“You wanted a duet, right?”

 

This surprises Hashirama, his eyes widening. “A duet,” he repeats in disbelief.

 

“Would you like to try?”

 

Hashirama didn’t need to be told twice.

 

They head to the back of the restaurant where a small room is solely dedicated for Hashirama to rehearse in. Once settled, Madara pulls out his violin along with several pages of music sheets. He gives some to Hashirama.

 

“Passacaglia, wasn’t it?”

 

“I’m surprised you managed to find it.”

 

“By ear.”

 

“Now you’re just bragging.”

 

“I’m better than you, Hashirama. It’ll do you good to know this as early as now.”

 

“We haven’t even started playing yet,” Hashirama retrieves his cello then, getting into position, “Talk to me after the duet.”

 

After making sure that both of their instruments are in tune, they proceed to play the first movement of the piece. The music sheet before them only served as a formality for the two of them are able to play the piece smoothly with minimal reference to the music sheets. They play in earnest, occasionally glancing at one another to ensure that they are still in sync with one another, something they didn’t find hard to do. 

 

When they finish the piece, they are met with a couple of applauses. Looking at their unexpected audience, Hashirama sees the owner of the restaurant.

 

“Hashirama,” the owner greets them with a smile, “Who’s this friend you’ve brought?”

 

“Sir, this is Madara. He’s a friend of mine.”

 

“Good afternoon, Madara. It’s nice meeting you,” he offers his hand. Finding no other choice, Madara shakes it.

 

“Nice meeting you, too.”

 

“You make very good music, the two of you. Do you have a job at the moment?”

 

“Not really,” he answers tentatively. Living off your parent’s funds don’t sound quite nice for an adult of his age.

 

“Good. What do you say about working for us?”

 

-

 

 

Interest in The Bistro and classical music has increased since the week when Madara has been officially employed and started playing duets with Hashirama. Their performances moved hearts and even made some people tear up, almost forgetting about their meals. Madara couldn’t care less about the attention he’s receiving from the others, but he sure cares about how ridiculously beautiful Hashirama looks everytime they play together.

 

Yes, he just said it.

 

He finds himself staring many times, and Hashirama has caught him staring many times as well. The other man still seems oblivious about Madara’s growing fondness of him, just throwing back his signature smile everytime their eyes meet.

 

Tobirama does notice something, however, and he makes sure Madara knows of it. It’s when Hashirama is doing a solo performance in front that Tobirama pulls hims aside for an important conversation.

 

The resonant sound of Hashirama’s cello can still be heard at the back of the staff room.

 

“Could you be honest with me?” Tobirama asks him the moment they faced each other.

 

“It depends on what you would ask me.”

 

His response makes Tobirama frown even more, but the man is able to compose himself. “I see how you look at my brother, and I see how he looks at you. I don’t know about the two of you, but I see something going on right here. What do you actually feel for my brother? And no, don’t give me any bullshit.”

 

“I do like your brother,” Madara admits. There is no point in denying it. “But trust me when I say that it’s all that there will be.”

 

“What do you mean by that? You won’t act on it?”

 

“Do I have to?”

 

“I don’t know!” Tobirama hisses frustratedly, “All I know is that my brother has been happier since he has made your company. He started playing music again for the fun of it. The last time he was like that was when before Itama died. I may not approve of who you are completely, but you’re making my brother better. And that’s what is important to me.”

 

For the first time, Madara wears an expression of incredulity. After a short while, he lets out a mocking laugh.

 

“You are certainly very imaginative.”

 

“The last thing I would want to imagine is my brother taking a liking on you. Why do you find it hard to believe that Hashirama would feel that way?”

 

“Probably the same reason why you disapprove of me.” He hears the last movement of Hashirama’s piece. Madara proceeds then to tie his hair back. “Look, if you think I’m helping Hashirama be better in our current set-up, then why must there be a need to complicate things? Am I right?”

 

Tobirama seems to comprehend where Madara is getting at. “So you’ll stay as his friend even if you like him a lot?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Fine,” he closes his eyes, letting out a defeated exhale, “But if you dare hurt him when my brother finally realizes what he feels for you, we’re going to have another talk. It won’t end well, I assure you.”

 

“You can sleep soundly tonight, Tobirama. I wouldn’t want to hurt him.” With that, Madara turns his back on him and returns inside. Applauses come from their customers, Hashirama has just finished his performance. It’s Madara’s turn to entertain.

 

The truth is, Tobirama believes Madara on his word. What he’s afraid of is that it’s Hashirama himself that will be the cause of his own heartbreak.

 

 

 

“You really didn’t have to come with me today.” Madara is fumbling with his keys as Hashirama waits behind him excitedly.

 

“As your duet partner, I believe I have equal rights into deciding which strings you should pick for your violin. I can’t believe you almost did not pick the Pisastro Olive.”

 

Madara finally finds the right key and lets themselves in. 

 

“Would you like coffee?” Madara offers, “Or tea?”

 

“I’d rather the tea, thanks.”

 

“Well then, wait for me here.”

 

“Can I look around?” The smile on his face is terribly innocent and pleading that Madara seems compelled to let him.

 

“Try not to break anything.”

 

He sets the water heater on before rummaging through his cabinets. Madara tries to locate the box of tea bags he hasn’t used for many weeks. He finds them pushed back to the far corner, slightly covered in a thin layer of dust. Making sure the tea is not yet expired, he pulls it out and proceeds to get two cups to prepare the tea in. Just in time, the water boils. He finishes preparing the cups of tea and returns to the living room.

 

Hashirama is in the middle of going through a photo album of his childhood. Madara takes the spot next to him on the couch and settles their cups on the table.

 

“Is this you?” Hashirama asks, pointing to an almost faded photo of a boy in school uniform, holding a violin on his hand.

 

“That’s my brother, Izuna. I was the one who took his photo.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Hashirama continues browsing through the pictures, “He looks like you.”

 

“He does,” Madara laughs softly. 

 

“Are you just living alone here? This place seems big for you.”

 

“We used to live here, the whole family I mean. Ever since Izuna died from…his cancer, my parents opted to live back in the province. They tried to make me come with them, but I didn’t want to mope with them. They do give me money to get by.”

 

“Is this you?” Hashirama now points at a picture with two boys, knowing all too well that he has breached a sensitive topic. Madara is easily identifiable by the mess that is his hair. Izuna is the shorter one, smiling widely for the camera. “You really seemed happy with your brother.”

 

“He was my everything.”

 

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Hashirama closes the photo album and places it on the table. “Itama was very precious to us as well. Especially to me. He’s always my audience everytime I practiced the cello, that’s why it became hard for me to play ever since he died two years ago. Sure, the restaurant job required me to play, but aside from there, I didn’t play anymore.”

 

“You seem recovered from it now, though.”

 

“Tobirama tells me the same thing, actually,” Hashirama smiles widely. “I still think it’s because of you.”

 

Madara almost spills his cup of tea at the statement. He coughs, putting down his cup for a moment.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You challenged me in a good way, I think. Ever since I made your acquaintance, I’ve become more attached to my music than ever. Comparing the past two years, playing music now makes me…happy.”

 

“Then I’m glad to be of help.”

 

“How about you?” Hashirama prods on, looking earnestly at Madara, “Have I helped you in some way?”

 

Madara looks at him then as if searching for something in his eyes. Hashirama holds his breath. It seems his heart is beating slower than normal. After what feels like an eternity, Madara flicks his forehead much to his surprise.

 

“Maybe after you help me replace my violin strings, I can answer ‘yes’ to that question.”

 

“Right,” Hashirama lets out a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound nervous, “Now where’s that precious Pisastro Olive that we bought?”

 

They spend the next twenty minutes or so replacing the old strings of Madara’s violin. It hasn’t been replaced in over a year, something Hashirama finds very horrific. Once they are sure that the strings are properly attached, Madara retrieves the bow from the case and wipes it clean.

 

“Might as well test the new strings,” he tells Hashirama. He rests the violin on the corner of his neck, remaining seated on the couch. “Who should I play?”

 

“Vivaldi, of course.”

 

Madara indulges Hashirama’s request, playing his own rendition of his Concerto in G Major. The new strings sound quite nice, much to Madara’s satisfaction. Hashirama brings his hand together for an applause after Madara finishes the piece.

 

“Encore?” Hashirama suggests with a smile on his face.

 

“How spoiled are you?” Madara rolls his eyes, but nevertheless, he cracks his neck once before readjusting the violin’s position on his neck. It takes him a moment to think of a new piece to play, and when he finally does, he closes his eyes and plays.

 

It’s almost like a spell, the way Madara fluidly moves with his violin, the way the bright music flows from the strings. Even if Hashirama wanted to look at Madara’s face, his eyes get drawn back to how Madara’s fingers move over the strings. He’s never seen such an exquisite set of fingers.

 

Madara finishes playing, and to be honest, Hashirama wishes he didn’t. Only Madara’s ragged breathing and the echoes of his last note filled the silence in the air. 

 

“Well-“

 

Without any spare for a second thought, Hashirama closes the distance between the two of them, reaching for Madara’s face and touching his lips with his own. It all happens in a flash of a second, and when Hashirama realizes what he has done, he quickly pulls away with a gasp and stands up, leaving a very surprised Madara on the couch.

 

“Shit,” Hashirama mutters under his breath. “Shit.”

 

“Hashi-“

 

“I’m going.”

 

Without waiting for Madara’s reply, Hashirama hurries to the door and walks out. 

 

 

-

 

The moment he arrives at The Bistro and Tobirama sees him, Hashirama plants his face on the counter and groans loudly.

 

“Let me guess,” Tobirama starts, “You did something you’re regretting right now.”

 

“I…messed up. Big time.” 

 

“Weren’t you supposed to be with Madara today?”

 

Hashirama groans once more.

 

“Ah.” Tobirama gets an idea of the situation at hand. “You messed up? What did you do?”

 

“For the record,” Hashirama finally shows his face, putting his hands up in the air, “I didn’t mean any trouble. I seriously was just enjoying the music when…”

 

“When what?”

 

His brother’s face turned into several shades of pink. He covers his face with both hands and groans again. In a hushed tone, he says, “I…kissed him.”

 

“Am I hearing this right?” Tobirama leans closer towards his brother, “ _You_ kissed him? Not the other way around?”

 

“Don’t be an idiot, why would Madara kiss me?” He pulls at his own hair in frustration. “Why did I do that?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe you like him.”

 

“I like him? Romantically?”

 

“Well, you were stalking in the cemetery-“

 

“I wasn’t. I was just appreciating his music.”

 

“-and you’re obviously smitten by how he plays his violin-“

 

“He’s a great musician, I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

 

“-and how fifty percent of the time, you’re always ‘ _Madara this_ ’ and ‘ _Madara that_ ’-“

 

“I am?”

 

“Yes,” Tobirama crosses his arms and nods, “Honestly, brother, you could have had anyone. I think your sense of judgment is severely damaged, but, yes, you like Madara. For a long time now, actually.”

 

Hearing it directly from Tobirama seems to have a calming effect on Hashirama. He removes his hands from his hair and sits up straight, gathering his bearings.

 

“I like Madara,” he repeats, testing how the words sound from his own mouth. “I like him.”

 

“Please don’t repeat it again,” Tobirama stops the urge to roll his eyes. “What do you plan to do now that you’ve come to realize one of your life’s greatest mysteries?”

 

There is only one answer to that. “I’m going to tell him.”

 

 

-

 

Intuition told Hashirama to head for the cemetery, and so he runs from The Bistro hoping to find Madara.

 

Everything is as it was the very first time Hashirama talked to him, except that this time, summer is being chased away by the cool autumn winds. Hashirama finds Madara standing over Izuna’s grave, his usually unkept hair tied in a neat ponytail. He’s playing the violin, and the music is the same one he was playing on that day he finally had the courage to approach Madara. Hashirama’s chest aches at the sight; Madara is _beautiful_.

 

Seemingly being aware of his presence, Madara turns his head a bit. Still, he refuses to look directly. He continues playing, and Hashirama waits for him to finish. When the last note of the piece ended, Hashirama steps forward.

 

“Madara-“

 

“If you’re here to apologize, you should just go.”

 

“Could you at least listen to me first? I’m not here to apologize.”

 

“Then what are you here for?”

 

“To face what I foolishly haven’t realized myself. I know…this sounds crazy, I don’t even understand it myself. Tobirama tells me that my sense of judgment is severely damaged but, I know that being with you makes me happy. And I look forward to every single moment I could spend with you, especially the moments when we create music together,” Hashirama inhales deeply, “The fact is I actually really, really like you.”

 

By the time Hashirama has ended his hastily thought-out confession, Madara’s lips are turned up in a coy, knowing smile. He looks pretty damned satisfied with himself, and somehow, Hashirama realizes another thing.

 

“You like me as well, don’t you?”

 

“Now that’s a pretty arrogant claim you have there, Hashirama.”

 

“Are you saying I’m not correct?” he raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“I’m just saying that you underestimate me, Hashirama. I don’t _just_ like you. In fact, I really, really like you, as well.”

 

“But…how?” Hashirama looks at him dumbfounded, “You’ve always been cold to me since the beginning.”

 

“I ask myself the same question, believe me. But recently, it’s not just Izuna that I want to play for. I’ve also found myself wanting to play for you.”

 

“That’s why you practiced Passacaglia?”

 

Madara nods.

 

“And why you accepted the offer to work in The Bistro?”

 

“You’re all realizing this just now?”

 

“I was so oblivious.”

 

“I wasn’t exactly being obvious, either. Your brother is very observant, though. He talked to me about this, and I believe he has threatened me into another talk if I ever hurt you.”

 

“Tobirama did what?” Hashirama makes a mental note to have another private conversation with his brother later.

 

“I’m sure Izuna would have had a comment or two as well if he was here, but never mind that.” Madara returns the violin to its case. “I believe you owe me something.”

 

“Owe you what, exactly?”

 

“A proper kiss?” Madara holds Hashirama by the wrist and pulls him closer, “No running away this time.”

 

Hashirama laughs, a sound that makes Madara smile fondly. He’d like to be with his new audience for quite a long time.

 

“I’ll try not to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy happy happy birthday, Dash!!! Thank you for introducing me and dragging me to the very angsty and very real HashiMada, and for screaming with me over our common ships. I owe you this sincd 2015, but stuff happened and yeah, block hahaha, but it's done now!!! I hope you enjoy this even if it's not angsty. C'mon, HashiMada is angsty enough in canon T_T enjoy being legal to drink in almost all countries in the world!! happy birthday again ❤
> 
> Special thanks to Emily, the bestest bruh I could ask for. She read earlier versions of this and helped me improve it a lot!!


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